


Whoa, Baby! | Reddie

by AestheticWritingPro



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: 80's Music, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Adult Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anniversary, Anniversary Gifts, Boyfriends, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, But in the best way possible, Childhood Memories, Cute Ending, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Idiots in Love, M/M, One-Armed Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Richie Tozier, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Young Eddie Kaspbrak, Young Richie Tozier, fan cast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-06 03:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AestheticWritingPro/pseuds/AestheticWritingPro
Summary: ⫷❍▨❍⫸in which a grown up richie tozier visits hishome town in search of an anniversary gift for his belovedhusband and takes a wrong turn-right down memory lane⫷❍▨❍⫸





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This might not be updated as regularly as Nine Chances but it’s going to be way shorter if you couldn’t already tell. Each chapter is hardly over 1,000 words. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

⫷❍▨❍⫸

**whoa, baby!**

⫷❍▨❍⫸

_ **reddie** _

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ whoa_, _baby_!_ slow down a sec—

who made you so damn insecure_?_

can_’_t you see you_’_re beautiful_?_ ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

in which a grown up richie tozier visits his

home town in search of an anniversary gift for his beloved

husband and takes a wrong turn—

right down memory lane

⫷❍▨❍⫸

**VASHWRITINGPRO**

**REDDIE**

**STARTED|10.27.19**

**FINISHED|N/A**

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	2. Chapter 2

⫷❍▨❍⫸

**john cusak**

_AS_

**richie tozier**

and...

**joseph gordon-levitt**

_AS_

**eddie kaspbrak**

⫷❍▨❍⫸

**young_!_losers**

**corey haim**

_AS_

**young_!_richie tozier**

and...

**ilan mitchell-smith**

_AS_

**young_!_eddie kaspbrak**

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	3. Chapter 3

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ this is no longer a vacation. it's a quest.

it's a quest for fun. ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

"Ah, _shit_!"

Richie slammed his head against the counter in front of him, phone clattering onto the surface beside him.

"_Jesus_! If you're not gonna sit still, this is never gonna get done," an attitude-filled voice huffed.

"Let me sulk!" Richie complained, pounding a fist weakly against the table. He lifted his head and looked in the mirror, mouth set in a deep scowl. Sylvia, the makeup artist, raised her eyebrows, glowering back at him.

"I _would_ let you sulk, but you're on in five minutes, and now you've got a fat welt on your forehead!" She snapped, smearing a bit more of whatever creams and powders she held in her drawers all over his forehead. "What's got you so pissed, anyways?"

"It's my anniversary in three days," he grumbled. "We've been married a year. I still haven't gotten a present, and they just booked me in a bonus show tomorrow. I wanted to be home a few days before so I could set something up— but now I'm not going to get home until the day before."

"Just tell them you can't make it," she suggested, combing his hair with her fingers and studying him in the mirror with what Richie called her 'Focus Face'. Despite her attitude, she was his favorite artist to work with— she covered almost all of his L.A. shows.

"It's already sold out," he groaned, exasperated. "They decided to wait to tell me until _after_ the tickets were gone. Can you believe them?"

"Management." She rolled her eyes. "I'd just stand them all up. Your girl is worth more than your career."

Richie laughed sharply, picking up his phone. It lit up with a notification, and his heart fluttered a little bit in his chest.

_Will u b home for dinner? -e_

He smiled fondly, typing out a quick confirmation and then holding the device to his chest— he felt like a giddy teenage girl.

"I don't have a girl," he sighed contentedly. "But my _man_, on the other hand— he's definitely something."

Sylvia suddenly paused her movements, smile growing. She met his eyes in the mirror, and grasped his shoulder, squeezing it gently. There was a knock on the door, and he glanced back as the stage manager poked his head in, waving him out.

"Rich, you ready? We're walking thirty seconds ago. You're on in one minute."

Sylvia stepped back, folding her arms over her chest, and smirked. Richie got to his feet and cast one last hopeless look at her as he stood in the doorway. She winked.

"Go get 'em, tiger."

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie didn't end up making it home in time for dinner, contrary to what he had told his scary husband.

The press had been rough after the show that night, and he was late getting out. He felt guilty— and his stomach felt hungry. He walked through the door of his shared home. The lights were off in the entrance hall, but as he shrugged off his jacket, hung it up, and entered the kitchen, his eyes adjusted— and the lights flicked on.

Eddie watched him walk in from the opposite doorway. His empty sleeve was cuffed and hung limply at his side, swinging a little bit as he straightened up. His hand left the light switch, and he regarded Richie with exasperated, but warm eyes.

"You're late," he said.

"I'm late," Richie agreed, fumbling awkwardly with his hands. But Eddie smiled, making his way across the room with a slight bounce in his step despite the hour at night— it was almost 10:00. Richie offered his arms, and Eddie reached out, curling his arm around Richie's neck and pulling him down into a tight embrace.

"I ordered out," Eddie mumbled into his shoulder. "I got your favorite."

"McDonalds?!" Richie squealed, letting go of his husband and hurrying over to the fridge. "_Babe_!"

"You disgust me," Eddie teased as Richie swung the refrigerator open and seized the bag, taking the burger out and putting it on the first plate he could get his hands on.

"_What_?!" He demanded, emptying the fries onto the plate and putting it in the microwave. "Listen, sweetheart, I don't know what kind of joint you _think_ we've got running here, but we aren't exactly culinary experts, in case you forgot." He returned to his waiting lover, pulling him in close once more and looking down at him with a soft smile. "What did you get up to while I was out?"

"Oh, nothing," Eddie replied, eyes wide and innocent. "The usual."

"Which is...?" Richie prompted, beginning to sway them from side to side gently, pressing his mouth to the man's forehead. "Come on, Eds, I've been thinking about you all day. I want to know if I got it right."

"Don't call me Eds," he warned, curling his arm around Richie's torso and pressing his cheek to his chest. "I just hung out. Worked on your anniversary present." The microwave beeped, and Richie sighed, closing his eyes.

"I thought we weren't doing that," he reminded the man, taking his glasses off and tossing them onto the nearest counter before burying his face into the bedhead that had been calling his name ever since he walked through the door.

"It's our first anniversary, Rich," Eddie said. "I don't care what we said. All sappiness aside, I'm getting you something. I already started working on it, so it's too late anyway. You don't have to get me anything," he added, but Richie groaned, tightening his grip around him and rubbing his face against the top of Eddie's head.

"No!" He cried, before pulling Eddie over to the microwave with him. "That's not fair, my lovely Spaghetti. Now I have to ruin your cute news with my bad news."

"Mmm, what bad news?" Eddie asked, voice muffled by Richie's shirt as the taller man reached up and grabbed his plate, pulling it down and picking up his hamburger. He took a large bite, using his free hand to brush Eddie's hair out of his face when he pulled his head back to look up.

"They booked me for a show tomorrow," he grumbled through a mouthful of burger. "Which means if I'm going to get you a good gift, I have to spend the whole day before looking. You know how indecisive I can be."

"Just don't get me anything," Eddie suggested, raising his eyebrows. "My thing is kind of for both of us, anyway."

"Ooh, you've piqued my interest," Richie told him, placing a gentle kiss on his nose. "How's your arm feeling?"

"Or lack thereof," Eddie snorted, glancing down at the empty sleeve with a flicker of distaste in his eyes. "It's fine, 'Chee. Has been for a _year_ now. I'm telling you, there's nothing to worry about anymore."

"I'm just checking, my lovely," Richie insisted, popping a fry into his mouth. "I know it's been two years since Derry— but I'm still scared."

"I know," Eddie sighed. "But I'm really okay. More okay than I ever thought I would be, if I'm being honest with you."

"Okay," Richie relented. They stood in silence while he worked on his burger, still swaying Eddie to some unheard tune, watching the clock tick through the minutes.

Richie allowed his mind to wander. He wondered what he was going to do about their anniversary— it was only three days away, and if he was busy all of tomorrow, then he would have hardly a day to work on something and plan the actual day of.

He considered calling Bev. She was good at this stuff. But part of him was hesitant— this felt like something he should figure out on his own. After all, Eddie was _his_ husband. Not hers.

Associating the word husband with Eddie still never failed to put a smile on Richie's face, and he doubted if it ever would. He could still remember when he was a kid and he had been afraid to even associate the word 'crush' with his best friend— then again, carving their initials into a hunk of wood on a bridge wasn't exactly a discreet way to admit the feelings to himself.

Richie's heart skipped a beat, and he froze, grip tightening around his lover's waist. He nearly choked on his last bite of hamburger, stifling a cough and straightening up, brow furrowing as he formulated a plan.

"Rich? What's wrong?" Eddie murmured, and Richie could hear the sleep in his voice. He had almost conked out on his feet. Richie smiled a little, leaned down and scooped the smaller man up into his arms, sweeping him off his feet and enjoying the soft shriek of surprise.

"Oh, nothing, my love," he answered, carrying him through the winding hallways of their house. "Just starting to get an idea in my head."

"Uh-oh," Eddie giggled sleepily, arm slung loosely around Richie's neck. The covers were pulled back slightly on his side as Richie entered their bedroom. "That's never good news."

"Hey, now!" Richie protested, setting him down carefully onto the mattress, and tucking the covers up to his husband's chin. Eddie held his hand out and watched through lidded eyes as Richie slipped the ring off of his finger, placing it on his bedside table "I have great ideas," he said, looking down at him with an expression of mock-offense. Eddie snorted.

"Whatever you say, 'Chee." He yawned, settling back and seeming to sink underneath the comforter. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Not yet, baby," Richie whispered. "I have to make a call. But I'll be back before you know I'm gone."

"I always know you're gone," Eddie murmured, eyes closed, and Richie's heart cracked a little bit, even though he knew the man hadn't meant it like that.

_At least, not entirely._

"Then I'll be here when you wake up," Richie amended, leaning over him and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. Eddie turned his head, opening his eyes just enough so he could see Richie's face clear enough to lift his head and kiss him briefly.

"Okay," he agreed, turning onto his side and exhaling softly. "I can't wait."

"Me neither, lovely," Richie mumbled, brushing his fingers through that soft brown hair once more before he straightened up. "I love you."

"Love you," Eddie grunted, then he fell silent. Richie watched him for a minute, watched the covers rise and fall with every breath, and for a minute he almost wanted to pinch himself just to make sure it wasn't a dream. When his footsteps didn't fade, Eddie cracked open one eye and glared at him. "Stop watching me, you creep. Go make your call and then snuggle with me."

Cheeks turning red, Richie hurried out of the room and pulled out his phone. He looked up the number and dialed it when he entered their living room, kicking his shoes off and walking over to their bay view window. His free hand made its way into his pocket as the ring tone went off a few times, and he chewed on his lower lip anxiously, well aware that he was going to be cutting things extremely close if he went through with this.

"Hello, this is LAX, Los Angeles International Airport. How can I help you?" A female voice asked. Richie swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath, before replying.

"Hey. Sorry for calling so late. I was just wondering when the earliest flight would be the day after tomorrow?" He hesitated, shuffling his feet, then just spat it out.

"I'm trying to get to Derry, Maine."

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	4. - two

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ before i go, i just want you two to know something, alright?

the super-cop story... was working. okay? it was working,

and you guys just messed it up. okay? ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie had lucked out with the flight— there was one the night before at 10:30 if he could make it there after the show ended.

He was determined to make it. It was scheduled to be over at 8:00– no reason for him _not_ to be out of there in time. He was concerned about traffic more than anything else, but he wanted to let Eddie know he was leaving before he just dipped, and the crowds after the show were _rough_.

Richie signed autographs, took selfies, and gave as many hugs and waves as he could while trying to get out of there. He wished he had actually taken the discreet exit for once— _What was I thinking?—_ but it was too late now. The crew had ushered him out into the waiting crowd, much to the audience's pleasure— and Richie's dismay.

He caught Sylvia's attention twenty minutes into the shenanigans and held up his phone, gesturing to it. She nodded, and pulled out her own. He sent her a quick, desperate text, smiling awkwardly up and the next camera that was shoved in his face. His watch read 8:30 now. Anxiety began to make his stomach churn as he hit 'send', desperately awaiting a reply.

_i need out. flight @ 10:30. want to see him b4 i go. can u get me out? -r_

His screen lit up seconds later, and it eased his heart a little bit. But just a little.

_yeah. i'll tell sam ur leaving. he'll get u out. -s_

_thx -r_

Richie slipped his phone into his pocket, taking a pen and a photo of himself from some frantically waving arms and signing it with vaguely shaky hands. A few more people swarmed him before he was being led through the crowd and back through the stage door, waving to the people out in the hall.

"Hey, thanks, man," he said to the crew member, who flashed a thumbs up as he hurried away. "I appreciate it!" He called, disappearing into his room and grabbing his keys. He hurried out the back exit and hopped into his car, tearing out of the parking lot.

He _may_ have pushed the speed limit a little bit— but he made it home five minutes faster than usual, so it was worth it. Especially when he burst into the house at 8:55 to find Eddie laying across the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and his little red shorts.

He had _insisted_ on buying them a few months into their relationship, and despite Richie's best efforts, he often paraded around their house in them. They left little to the imagination, and Richie hated them— so much, that almost every time Eddie them on, they found their way right back off and on the other side of whatever room they happened to be in.

Tonight was the rare occasion that Richie, regrettably, didn't feel he had the time to fool around.

But he was almost willing to try anyway.

So, he kicked his shoes off, dropped his jacket and knelt by Eddie's feet on the couch, grabbing him by the calves and yanking him closer. The man giggled, wriggling his butt up onto Richie's lap without sitting up, and curling his legs around his husband's waist.

"Hey, babe," he greeted, eyes never leaving the television. "How'd it go?"

"It was good," Richie murmured, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Eddie's exposed collarbone as his body shifted between his partner's knees.

"Mm, did you rock the house?" Eddie murmured, tilting his head to give Richie better access to his neck, which the man latched onto, leaving a trail of kisses all the way up to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He sighed softly, vocalizing his pleasure when Richie moved back down to his pulse point and gave it some special attention, fingers dancing up his stomach.

"I brought down the house," Richie corrected, lips moving against his husband's skin. "I love you."

"Okay, what are you up to?" Eddie grunted, reaching up and pushing his face away, although he still wasn't quite invested enough to look away from the movie he was watching.

"Why can't I _ever_ just be horny?" Richie complained, taking off his glasses so he could smush his face into Eddie's hand more comfortably.

"You can," Eddie replied. "But when you are, it's not like this. When you're horny, your pants are off before you even touch me."

"Are not," Richie grumbled, although he knew it was true. He couldn't help but get ahead of himself when he was in the mood. But Eddie always got a kick out of it, so he didn't bother pretending not to be as excited as he usually was.

"Yes they are," Eddie insisted, legs falling away from Richie's hips and hitting the couch with a soft _whup_. "So what's up? You gonna be out all day tomorrow, too?" He said it nonchalantly, but Richie detected the slight strain in his voice. He wasn't happy.

"Yeah," he whispered, peppering his husband's face with kisses. "But I promise that I'll be back in time for you to wake up to this beautiful face on our anniversary."

"You're ugly," Eddie snarked, finally looking up at him as Richie made a face, wrinkling his nose.

"Yowza, Eds," he said, frowning. "Way to make a guy feel better."

"I'm sorry," Eddie murmured, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it. I love waking up to your beautiful face."

"But...?" Richie prompted, caressing the man's cheek and pushing his hair back from his forehead.

"But," Eddie agreed, frowning. "I was hoping you'd have the whole weekend off. What are they making you do tomorrow? Did they book another bonus show without asking?"

"I have business in Maine," Richie said. "My flight is at 10:30–"

"Jesus Christ, Richie, what the fuck are you still doing here?" Eddie hissed, starting to sit up and smacking his forehead against Richie's. They both reeled back, groaning in pain and clutching their heads, grimacing. "Sorry," Eddie breathed, eyes squeezed shut. "I just— you only have an hour and a half to pack, get there, get through customs— the whole shebang. You have to get going. And... did you say Maine?" When those brown eyes opened, they held the same type of anxiety that Richie had felt when the gift idea had sprung into his head— but it was unmatched by the amount of determination and love in his heart. "What do they want you to do there?"

"Okay, so _maybe_ it's a personal thing," Richie admitted. "But don't worry, It's going to be quick—"

"A personal thing?" Eddie asked, alarmed. He struggled to sit up, careful not to bash their heads again. He curled his arm around Richie's neck, pulling himself up, and Richie helped, supporting him by the waist. "In Maine? Is this something I should know about? Did I miss an important call?"

"No!" Richie assured him, shaking his head vigorously. "You're fine, sweetheart. This is just a me thing. Nobody else is involved."

"Are you sure it's safe?" Eddie asked anxiously, brows furrowing. "I could go with you. If there's not a seat on this flight I could catch the next one— I can start packing right now, and we could—"

"Eddie." Richie pressed a finger to his lover's lips, silencing him. Eddie's face crumpled, and he frowned deeply, turning his head into Richie's palm as it cupped his cheek. "Don't worry," Richie soothed. "I'll call you as soon as I land— if you want. You might still be sleeping."

"I'll set an alarm," Eddie insisted. "And you call me in the morning, too. Periodically. Breakfast lunch and dinner. Actually— every hour is safer. And if you forget, I'll freak out, so don't you _dare_ forget."

"I'm not even going to _be_ there for dinner if things go smoothly," Richie told him, running a soothing hand up and down Eddie's back. The brunet looked up at him, sadness filling his beautiful eyes, and Richie's heart ached. He dipped his head down, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

"I still don't know why you think you have to do this," Eddie grumbled against his mouth. "It's getting cold there. It's probably all snowy and shit. Your flight could have issues— what if it crashes?"

"It won't crash, don't be ridiculous," Richie scoffed. "I'll be fine, baby. If it makes you feel better, I'll call you every hour."

"And send a picture so I know you're okay," Eddie added. Richie laughed, and kissed him again, eyes fluttering shut and heart beginning to swell.

"Alright, gorgeous," he said once he finally pulled away. "If you wanted nudes, all you had to do was ask."

"Oh, fuck off, Richie," Eddie said, but he was chuckling as he climbed out of his lap, laying back across the couch and watching him get up. "I'll miss you," he said, more quietly, as Richie reached the edge of the room. Richie looked back over at his husband, who's eyes were once more on the movie still playing, skin glowing lightly under the light of the television, blissfully unaware of the eyes on him. Richie sighed, thinking, _How the hell did I get so lucky?_

"I'll miss you too, Spaghetti."

And then he packed his bags, and he left.

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	5. - three

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ a person should not believe in an -ism,

he should believe in himself. ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

The flight was on schedule, and although Eddie had been right about the snow— a blizzard which he texted Richie about multiple times during the hour and a half before his plane took off— it did not affect the plane's descent into the quiet Maine airport.

The flight was full of different types of people— some alone, some accompanied by family members. Many seemed to be small families, and Richie wondered if they were visiting grandparents, or maybe even _great_ grandparents for the holidays. He and Eddie had spent Thanksgiving alone, by choice. Neither of them loved the holiday— but they made it _very_ clear to each other what they were thankful for over their extravagant weeklong vacation of solitude from the rest of the world.

Richie couldn't help but smile at the memory as he grabbed his carryon out of the overhead storage, before pulling out the case that belonged to his seat neighbor, handing it to her and nodding with a small smile as she thanked him.

Perhaps the best thing about returning home for the second time in adulthood, aside from the fact that there was nobody out and about in a snowstorm like this, was that nobody who _was_ out and about seemed to recognize him- or, if they did, they didn't care enough to say anything.

Richie hopped in a taxi straight off the plane. He had only packed the carryon— he was only going to be there for the day. As promised, as soon as he gave the directions to his driver, he dialed Eddie's number.

It was 4:30 in the morning in L.A., but his phone had updated the time as soon as he had switched his service back on. It was about 7:30 in the morning here. He felt exhausted. But his flight was at 9:30 tonight, and even though he hadn't slept on the plane ride here, he had a feeling the ride back would be more relieving. He could sleep then.

Eddie picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby," Richie greeted, stifling a yawn. "Did I wake you up?"

"No. I can't sleep." He sounded exhausted, and Richie frowned, leaning back in his seat and pinching his brow under his glasses.

"Why not, sweetheart?" He finally asked after a long pause. Eddie was quiet for a second, then he heard something rustle in the background. He was probably rolling over under the covers.

"I miss you," came the hushed reply, and Richie was reminded of whispered conversations over the phone when they were kids and still terrified of being caught and called out for what they were. Almost instinctively, his voice dropped in volume as well, though he had no secret. He wore his wedding band on his bare hand with pride.

"I miss you too." He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window and watching as the snow-capped trees rushed by in a blur. "But you've gotta sleep, honey. I'm going to be home when you wake up tomorrow morning, you know."

"I know," Eddie sighed over the phone. "But you feel so far away." Silence. Then, "Are you in Derry yet?" Richie watched the welcome sign fly by, and almost lied through his teeth. But he didn't feet any different. The town felt somehow emptier, but... more welcoming. More normal.

"I just got here," Richie answered. "It's..." He glanced at his watch. "7:50 right now. My flight is tonight, at 9:30. It'll be about six hours from there. Then however long it takes to get home, but I doubt the traffic will be bad."

"So you'll be home at midnight, give or take," Eddie said. "Just in time."

"Just in time, baby," Richie agreed. "And I expect a warm welcome home, I've gotta say—"

"Which you'll _get_, if you aren't late," Eddie interrupted, voice low, almost husky. "I'll give you more than a warm welcome— I'll give you a _hot_ one."

"_Stop_, I'm sitting in a taxi right now," Richie whisper-yelled, cheeks getting warm. The vehicle turned into the parking lot of the Derry townhouse, and the building looked just as old and rundown as it did two years earlier. "I have to check in to the townhouse in a minute, so I'm gonna have to let you go."

"But you'll call me in an hour, right?" Eddie asked through a yawn. Richie smiled softly, passing a few bills up to the driver and climbing out of the car into the flurrying snow. He took his bag out of the trunk, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear.

"I won't call _you_," he answered, giving his driver a wave as he headed up the front steps, cheeks and nose turning red against the cold. "_You_ are going to try to sleep. And even if you don't, you're going to rest until at least 7:00. Then, if you're awake, you can call me."

"Richie," Eddie whined. "I just want to know you're safe—"

"If something goes wrong I'll call you no matter what time it is," Richie assured him. "But it's only two and a half hours, Eds. Try to sleep at least a little, yeah?"

"Fine," Eddie sighed. Richie entered the building, shifting the phone onto his other ear. "I love you."

"I love you so much, sweetheart," Richie told him, walking slowly towards the front desk. "I eagerly await your next phone call."

"I'm setting an alarm for 7:00 in case I do fall asleep," Eddie muttered begrudgingly. "I _will_ call you."

"Okay, whatever you say, sugar," Richie replied. "Listen, I really gotta go now. Save a couple kisses for me. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay," Eddie said. "Bye, 'Chee."

"Later, gumdrop." He hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket, finally reaching the desk and looking up at the pleasantly smiling employee. "Sorry about that," he laughed. "I just need a room for the day— I'm not even staying the night. Just need a place to put my stuff."

"Oh, you don't have to pay for that," the girl said, laughing. "Don't even worry about it— we have a storage closet. You can leave your bag there if you want. I'll write you a note in case I'm off my shift when you come back." She jotted something down on a piece of paper with 'Derry' printed on it in fancy calligraphy, signing her initials with a flourish and handing him the paper. She grabbed a set of keys off a hook and walked around the desk, heading for a closet across the hall.

Richie followed, folding up the note and putting it in his pocket. He pulled out a ten and tucked it in his back pocket for laterally, watching as she unlocked the closet to reveal a mostly empty space. There were a few fold-up chairs, a foldable table, and some first-aid kits, but it was otherwise empty.

"Hey, great," Richie laughed, placing his carryon inside. "That's perfect. Thank you so much."

"No problem!" She shrugged, locking the door again, and when she turned around to face him, he read her name tag.

_Susie_.

"Well, can I tip you or something?" He asked, offering the ten. She shook her head, waving him off.

"You don't have to do that," she denied. "I'm just happy to help you out. What are you doing in a small town like Derry, anyway?" She headed back around the desk and sat down, resting her chin on her palm. Richie walked over and leaned against the counter, glancing at the window and observing the swirls of frozen white outside. "You visiting family for the holiday?" She guessed, then bit her lip and furrowed her brow. "No, because then you'd stay with them— and you wouldn't just be here for today. Huh."

Richie laughed. "No," he said. "I actually grew up in this town. My anniversary is tomorrow— and I married my childhood best friend. So I'm here to get something I left behind when we were kids. It's a gift for him."

"Oh, that's so sweet!" She squealed, clasping her hands together. "What's his name? Where are you guys from now? I _love_ childhood romances."

"Well— his name is Eddie," Richie said, and he couldn't stifle his smile. Nobody he was still friends with wanted to listen to his rants about Eddie— especially not the man himself. So it was rare to have this opportunity to gush, for lack of a better term. "He's the cutest. Sassiest little guy you'll ever meet. He's the one I was on the phone with on the way in."

"Awww, you had so many nicknames for him!" She swooned. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you were right there, and—"

"It's fine," Richie assured her. "Yeah, he hates the pet names. Or so he says. _My_ theory is that he secretly loves them." He shrugged sheepishly, chuckling. "Of course, I've been known to be wrong. But sometimes when he thinks I can't hear him he talks to himself— and he'll refer to himself as 'Eds', which is the one he's claimed to hate since the beginning."

"That's adorable," she said, smiling. "Hey, he sounds great. And you guys are from...?"

"L.A.," Richie answered. Her eyes widened.

"Holy shit, you're kidding!" She gasped. "Are you gonna make it back in time for tomorrow? The snow is supposed to get heavier tonight."

"My flight is at 9:30, so I've got my fingers crossed," Richie answered, smiling grimly. "But we'll see. If I finish my business earlier than planned I might try to catch an earlier flight."

"Well, good luck," she said, straightening up. "I won't be the one who makes you late because I talked for too long."

"You're fine," Richie shrugged. "It was nice to get to gush for once. My friends have heard it all already."

She grinned. "Well, I enjoyed it. I don't think I caught your name."

"Richie Tozier," he introduced himself, offering his hand. "And you're Susie." She took his hand and shook it, gesturing to her name tag.

"You got it," she agreed. "Well— maybe I'll see you later."

Richie backed towards the door, smile fading, though it didn't go away completely.

"Yeah," he said, tilting his head.

"Maybe you will."

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	6. - four

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ listen_!_ we_'_re not just doing this for money_!_

we_'_re doing it for a SH_*_T LOAD of money_!_ ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

The first place Richie went was the town center.

He needed a few things to put his plan into action, and one of those things was a winter jacket. Living in California was not an activity that required one of those, something he had forgotten to take into account before heading up to Maine in the dead of winter. His taxi stopped on the main street, right outside of Keene's Drugstore, and Richie eyed it with distaste and nostalgia as he got out of top his taxi and tugged his thin little jacket around himself tighter.

He almost passed the building by— but then he stopped in front of the glass doors and looked through the windows. He bit back a smile.

He stepped inside and straight into a memory.

⫷❍▨❍⫸

_Derry, Summer of 1992_

It was _way_ too hot out for Richie's taste as he strolled into the air conditioned drugstore in the town's center. Eddie was a few paces ahead of him, am anxious bounce in his step— and Richie bit back a snarky comment at the way his best friend was walking, glancing around at the brightly lit aisles of the small general store.

Eddie walked past everything without even pausing to look. Richie wasn't as focused. He trailed behind, observing all of the different gum flavors, and chocolate brands until a thin but firm hand seized his wrist and dragged him up to the front counter. He stifled a laugh, stumbling along behind his friend and coming to a stop at the front of the store, shoving his hands into his pockets as Eddie had taught him to do when he wanted to keep himself from touching _literally_ everything.

"Hello, Eddie," Mr. Keene greeted. "Are you here for your prescription?"

"Yes, please," Eddie said politely, casting a side long glance at Richie, who really was trying his best to behave— and the hyperactive boy didn't miss the upwards quirk in the corner of his partner's lips. Mr. Keene headed into the back of the pharmacy, muttering to himself, and Eddie turned to face Richie, smile growing.

"Am I doing good?" Richie asked very seriously. "I'm trying my best for you, Eds."

"I was _going_ to say you could go buy us an ice cream while I wait," Eddie said, holding up a crumpled bill and wrinkling his nose. "But because you called me that I think I might have changed my mind."

"What?!" Richie gasped, hands clenching into fists within his pockets as his jaw went slack. "But I— Do you see how still I'm standing? Come on, Eddie, just let it slide this _once_— you don't even _really_ hate it, anyway!"

"Fine!" Eddie relented, holding out the dollar. "But that doesn't mean I'm agreeing with the last part," he warned, raising his eyebrows. "I'm just '_letting it slide_'."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, Eds," Richie snickered, taking the cash and stepping out of reach as his friend's eyes flashed with annoyance— and perhaps a flicker of affection. Richie winked, enjoying the way Eddie's cheeks turned pink, and backed towards the exit, waving the dollar above his head. "I'll get us a vanilla— because we wouldn't want you to have an allergic reaction to the strawberries, would we?"

"For the _last_ time, Rich, the strawberry flavoring in the ice cream is _fake_," Eddie said, rolling his eyes with an exasperated smile. "But whatever you want. Just don't let it all melt before I get there— and don't you _dare_ eat it all on your own."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Eddie, my love," Richie said dramatically, turning and walking with a new skip in his step. He could practically feel Eddie's soft scoff— but he knew he was blushing. He always did.

Richie stepped back out into the heat of the summer and took a deep breath, scurrying across the street without looking both ways, a habit that would have Eddie shitting his pants if he had seen it in action, and hurried up to the shop across the street.

The fair was in town again this summer, which was the main reason Richie hadn't bothered looking. There was a sort of unofficial parade going on. He no longer tried to take the musicians' instruments— he had been told by many that it was immature and 'uncool', though what the rest of his friends knew about being cool was beyond him. Why they cared was even further above his pay grade. After all, they _were_ self-proclaimed Losers, weren't they?

"Just vanilla soft-serve on a cone, please," he requested upon reaching the front of the surprisingly short line. The vendor nodded and fulfilled his request. They traded, the money for the cone, and Richie decided to save the first lick for Eddie, heading out and hurrying across the street before the heat got the frozen dessert to melt too quickly.

Eddie was walking out with his new inhaler just as Richie approached, and as he looked up, his already-beautiful eyes seemed to brighten.

"I saved the first lick for you," Richie said, holding out the treat. Eddie stepped closer, smile softening.

"For me?" He asked. "I sent you to get it so you could have a head start."

"Yeah, but... I don't know." Richie shrugged, cheeks darkening. "I just... I wanted to let you have it. The first lick is the best, and I guess I just think you deserve the best, Eds."

"You're such a dork," Eddie said, cheeks turning a furious red shade. He glanced either way to see if anyone was looking, then grabbed Richie's wrist and dragged him into the small space between the drugstore and the building next to it, hidden from the people on the street.

"What—" Richie started to say, watching helplessly as a drop of ice cream hit the floor. It was melting. "Eddie, what are you—"

"Thanking you," Eddie said simply. He reached up, grasped Richie's cheeks, and pulled him down into a soft kiss. Richie's eyes flew open wide, and the ice cream slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a soft _splat_. But he couldn't find it in him to care.

Because though it was hot, and Eddie's body was hotter against his own, and they were both sweating, the feeling of that mouth against his own was something he had been seeking for longer than he could remember, and it was sweeter than any dessert money could buy.

"Yowza, Eds," Richie mumbled as the brunet pulled away. "I think I wasted your dollar."

Eddie laughed, throwing his head back, and Richie couldn't help but stare, completely and utterly entranced. Eddie lifted his head back up, eyes shining and smile blinding.

"Whatever, Trashmouth. We can get another cone. But this time, _I'm_ holding it."

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie's phone was ringing. The sound cut shrilly through his memory, causing it to fade into the background. He blinked a few times, shaking his head, and glanced at his watch, then at the contact that had popped up on his screen. He sighed, laughing a little bit, and held the phone up to his ear.

"You're not supposed to be awake for another thirty minutes!" He scolded.

"I was dreaming about us," Eddie answered, voice scratchy with sleep. "About that day— with the ice cream? Our first kiss."

"Really?" Richie asked softly, stepping back out, and although snow swirled around him from all directions, he thought he could go for some vanilla soft serve. "Me too. We didn't even get to eat the ice cream."

"We didn't," Eddie chuckled. "I made you drop it."

"I was just surprised!" Richie said defensively, wandering into the very alleyway where it happened. "I'm standing in our footsteps right now."

"Then I'm sending you a kiss," Eddie said. "But don't drop your phone. I want to have a way to contact you while you're there."

"Oh, I'll do my best to get a grip, my dear," Richie replied, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

"Good," Eddie said, satisfied. "I'm sending the kiss now. It'll arrive in five to ten business days."

"I can't wait, Spaghetti," Richie said, leaning against the wall, and for a moment he was a teenager again, and Eddie was there, and he could feel the ghost of his lips once more.

"Actually, I think it just arrived."

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	7. Chapter 7

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ i'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest

of my whole life the way i feel when i'm with you. ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie knew he really should be getting done what he had to get done and leaving, but he hadn't gotten the chance to really visit his old haunts back when they had been in Derry on business two years earlier, and it was still early. So once he had bought himself the things he needed— including a winter jacket and boots as well as a worthwhile hat and gloves— he took another cab and got out at the edge of the woods.

He thanked the cabbie and headed down into the thin, dead forest, glancing around and sniffling a little against the chill. He knew they had visited the clubhouse— but they never went to the quarry. They had rushed Eddie straight to the hospital. There was no time for sight-seeing.

So even though the water was probably frozen over, and there wasn't much for him to do there, Richie walked to the cliff that the club had spent most of their summers jumping off of.

It was a smaller space than he remembered, and it was blocked off now by a gate with a sign that read, 'Danger! No jumping.'

Richie regarded it for a moment, then swung a leg over. He peered over the edge, and much like when he had entered the drugstore, the sky reflected in the icy sheet below was one from a distant memory just beginning to resurface.

⫷❍▨❍⫸

_Derry, Summer of 1993_

"D'you really think I'm cute?"

The question caught Richie by surprise. He frowned, brushing the hair out of Eddie's forehead. They were sitting on a rock just beneath the surface while their friends horsed around in deeper waters. Eddie has his back pressed to Richie's chest and they sat, watching, thinking, having their own quiet conversation.

"'Course I do," he said. "I've thought you were cute since the day I first met you."

"Why?" Came the soft response. Startled, Richie started to sit up, arm tightening around Eddie's waist and holding him close so he wouldn't slip off of the rock. "I'm nothing special."

"Whoa, baby!" Richie protested, shifting off of the rock and moving around so he stood in front of Eddie, placing his hands carefully on the boy's knees. "Slow down a sec— Who made you so damn insecure?" Eddie opened his mouth to protest, but Richie silenced him with a look, eyebrows so high on his head that he thought they might disappear into his hair. A bit of a mischievous grin tugged as his lips and he gestured to Eddie's reflection in the lake. "Can't you see you're beautiful?"

"Richie, you don't have to—" The brunet started to say, but Richie cut him off, gripping his knees tightly.

"You're _beautiful_," Richie insisted, moving closer so he stood between Eddie's thighs, which parted slightly to give him room. He looped his arms around his boyfriend's waist, tilting his head back and offering a lazy smile.

Do you think I'll ever get away from her?" Eddie asked. Richie sighed, brushing the hair out of the boy's forehead once again— it kept sticking.

"Well, damn, Eds, I think you can do whatever the hell you want to do," Richie answered truthfully. "You don't have to ask permission."

"I don't know," Eddie said, and Richie could hear the hesitance in his voice. "I just— She's my mom, you know? Even if she tries to control me, it's because she loves me, not because she wants me to suffer, right?"

"Listen, sugar," Richie said, pulling his lover down into a chaste kiss. Eddie lingered a moment longer than perhaps he had to, then pulled away, glancing at the others with a flicker of apprehension. None of them were looking, but he pushed Richie out from between his legs anyway, squeezing his thighs together once there wasn't a body in the way and covering his red cheeks.

"I don't know what your Ma is playing at when she tries to bring you down like this," he told him very seriously, placing his hands on Eddie's bare legs once more. "I'm being for real. I don't know if she thinks it's going to keep you from going out and finding a relationship, or what, but here we are, yeah? Clearly her manipulation tactics didn't work very well."

"They _did_ work until I met a stubborn bastard who wouldn't take no for an answer," Eddie grumbled, lips curling upwards into a soft smile, and Richie chuckled, pushing himself off the side of the rock and floating backwards in the water.

"Yowza, Eds," he called. "You make it sound like you _don't_ want all this— maybe _I'm_ the ugly one."

"Yeah, _maybe_," Eddie snarked. There was a soft splash from his general direction, and then someone was shoving Richie under water, and he gasped, hardly getting a breath in before he was completely submerged.

_That little asshole_.

He grabbed the hands that were holding him under and yanked the owner closer, turning them over in the water and dragging Eddie downwards. The boy struggled, and Richie didn't keep him underwater long— the thought of the little red inhaler, sitting all the way at the top of the cliffs, briefly crossed his mind, and he pulled his boyfriend up to the surface.

Long legs wrapped around his waist and Eddie clung to him, gasping for breath, but laughing, too. His brown hair was plastered to his face, and Richie glanced around before craning his neck and kissing him again. It was wet and slippery, but he didn't mind, and Eddie didn't seem to, either.

_I can't believe I'm allowed to do this now. _

Richie smiled into the kiss, sliding his hands up Eddie's chest and neck to grip his face. The boy pulled on his hair, angling his head and biting down on his lips gently.

"Eddie!" Richie squeaked, surprised. His cheeks burned as the brunet smirked devilishly, dragging his loose lip down with his thumb and placing another peck on the corner of his mouth.

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie suggested, leaning down so his mouth was right next to Richie's ear, and the boy shuddered.

"Holy shit, babe," Richie said breathlessly, blinking water out of his eyes and looking around at their friends. "You're makin' me crazy." They were still distracted and thrashing around in the deeper water. Richie's toes brushed the bottom as he made his way towards the shore with Eddie still hanging on for dear life, poking at his cheeks and counting his freckles aloud.

They snuck away without telling anyone, but Richie was 99.9% sure he had seen Stan look over at the last second just as they disappeared back into the trees.

But for the bright-eyed and dazzling smile that was sent back at him as they hurried through the forest, clubhouse hammock-bound, he decided that maybe it was all worth it.

Love made it so.

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie swung his legs absently, leaning back with his palms against the cold ground. The snow had become a dusting now— there were at least two or three inches. Beginning to feel glad he had bought his supplies, Richie got to his feet and brushed himself off.

The seat of his jeans were wet from sitting in the snow but he couldn't find it in him to care as he took out his phone and dialed his home number, pressing it to his cold ear underneath his hat and making his way back out of the barrens and onto the main road.

"Hey, sweetheart. You'll never guess where I just was."

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	8. - six

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ hey you guys_!_ ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

It was approaching 10:45 in the morning when Richie reached his next destination, and the snow was starting to fall more heavily. He couldn't even see the grass of the Neibolt Street baseball field under all of this white powder, but he trudged onto it anyway, glancing around at the fenced-in area with a nostalgic smile. He was only getting further from his destination— but he had a few hours. He wasn't too concerned.

He stood in the middle of the field and stared around, a soft smile settling onto his lips. For a split second he thought he caught the shadow of an old building— a house— in the corner of his eye. But he whirled around, and across the street, where his old nightmare used to stand, there was just the same old wreckage as they had left behind two years prior. There was the sound of a footstep crunching through the snow— but he turned again, and there was nobody there, either.

"Stop scaring yourself," he grumbled.

His own footsteps were the only sounds after that aside from the wind, which only seemed to be getting stronger. Branches flailed against it, and snow continued to fall harder still. What had been a dusting just an hour earlier was now reaching his ankles and still climbing.

Richie approached the dugout that his team had always occupied when they were kids and couldn't help but chuckle as he squatted down in the small gap between the roof and the ground. The bench was still attached to the wall, but he was afraid to put any weight on it as he strolled down the steps into the confined space. He had to duck a little bit and realized he finally understood why Coach had never wanted to hold any team meetings in here— the roof hung very low.

Richie looked at the back corner where he had spent most of his time, unless he was on the field. It was the prized spot to be— if you sat there, you were one of, if not _the_ most liked on the team, and Richie had inhabited it longer than almost any of the others with his sets of wisecracks and hearty swings of the old wooden bat that always clattered around when you dropped it.

Looking back now, Richie wondered, if the boys on his team had liked him so much, why had he never hung out with them?

But deep down, in a place that he hadn't worn on his shoulder then as he did so now, he knew.

And he remembered.

⫷❍▨❍⫸

_Derry, Autumn of 1994_

The game was over.

Richie sat in the corner of the dugout furthest from the exit, visor of his hat hanging low on his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun that tried to peek through the gap between the ceiling and floor. A few boys clapped him on the shoulder, wished him well— "_Hey, man, we'll miss you. Wish you didn't have to graduate!_"— and God, Richie felt old.

They had lost. It was the last game of the season, and they had lost. But Richie had played his heart out, and he was exhausted— and as the last of his teammates' voices faded from the field, he still sat.

He wasn't sure how exactly he felt.

Sad, for sure. This team had been with him since the little league, for Christ's sake. Some of these boys had been his friends since there were still training wheels on their bikes. And watching them walk away, watching them hang up their uniforms for the last time? That— That was something.

Richie took a deep breath and wished he had a cigarette. Footsteps shook him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see one of the newer kids— Dan, his name was— skid to his knees and stick his head into the dugout.

"Hey, Rich!" The kid greeted, grinning. "Me and some of the guys are going out for lunch— we're thinking about catching a flick at the Aladdin after. You in?"

Richie opened his mouth to accept, then saw a figure trudging through the grass from the other end of the field and the words died on his tongue. Brown hair flew all over the place as the wind picked up and the owner nearly lost their balance, arms flying out as they stumbled. Richie's heart swelled, and he bit his lip to conceal his smile, cheeks turning pink.

"I've actually got plans," he finally answered, looking back up at Dan, who tilted his head. "My—" He had to pinch himself to keep the word ‘boyfriend’ from falling past his lips— "My best friend is taking me to lunch and then we're meeting up with some of our other pals to hang out at the quarry."

"Oh," Dan said, but he didn't seem to be bothered. "Alright! Sounds good. But Rich..." He hesitated, brow furrowing, then he smiled. "Don't be a stranger, okay? The guys and I... We're all going to miss you and your big mouth."

"I'll try my best," Richie replied, holding out a hand and getting to his feet. Dan reached through the gap and took it, shaking it firmly, and holding on for a few milliseconds longer than necessary. Then he let go, and Richie lowered his hand slowly, watching him back up.

"See you around, man!" Dan called, jogging away. Richie sighed, folding his arms over his chest. Moments later, the brunet he had spotted from across the field stumbled down the steps and into the dugout.

"Who are you hiding from?" Eddie asked, steadying himself against the wall.

"You," Richie replied, laughing as Eddie glared at him and made his way over, reaching up and punching his shoulder.

"It's okay to be upset, you know," Eddie told him, gesturing around. "This is your life."

"Nah," Richie disagreed, wrinkling his nose. "This was _great_— Dont get me wrong, I loved it. But it wasn't my life."

"You're about to say something disgustingly sappy," Eddie accused, but he let Richie curl his arms around his waist anyway, getting closer and smiling despite his complaint. "Go on, then. Spit it out, you Trashmouth."

"My life," Richie said, grinning, "is spending time with you and the other Losers. It's getting out of school and heading straight to the clubhouse— because I know who's going to be there waiting to make a shitty day alright, no matter how hopeless things seem. It's having my last ever high school baseball game and seeing my beautiful boyfriend head over from the bleachers to tell me how fantastically I played."

"You played fantastically," Eddie chipped in, standing on his tiptoes for a second to kiss him on the mouth. "I'm proud of you."

"And that is what gives me life," Richie murmured against his lips, lifting one hand to cup his cheek. His thumb ran along smooth skin, and he pulled back to peck Eddie's nose.

"I hate how perfect you are," Eddie grumbled.

"I'm sorry, what was that, sweetheart?" Richie asked, placing a hand to his ear. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Fuck off, Rich, you heard me," Eddie said, cheeks becoming furiously red.

"Tell me again anyway," Richie requested softly, none of the aforementioned mischief in his voice any longer. Eddie's eyes softened, and he grabbed Richie's face in his hands, holding his gaze firmly and smiling.

"You are my kind of perfect," the boy told him very seriously. "And I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Good, because I wasn't planning on giving you up any time soon," Richie said, taking off his baseball cap and shoving it over Eddie's wind-tousled hair— but there was a twinge of guilt in his stomach as he thought about the suitcase under his bed.

"Good," Eddie agreed. "Because I wasn't planning on letting you."

And if Richie didn't say anything when Eddie kissed him senseless, even though he was going to be making his big disappearance as soon as the school year ended, then who could blame him?

⫷❍▨❍⫸

"Do you still have that baseball cap I gave you during our senior year?" He asked Eddie over the phone an hour later. He was back in the center of town grabbing lunch— an activity that he was afraid would take years if the kitchen staff moved as slowly as the elderly man who had taken his order.

"Ummm, I think so," Eddie said. "But I'm not getting up to look right now. I'm watching one of your specials."

"You're watching my special?" Richie asked, grinning. "You hate those. You must miss me a lot."

"Yeah," Eddie said, voice strained. "Are you almost done with whatever you're there for? The forecast says it's supposed to get worse and worse. I'm afraid your flight will get delayed, or canceled, and—"

"I'm gonna make it home, sweetheart," Richie insisted. There was a moment of silence. Then...

"Tell me you love me. And talk to me until I fall asleep."

Richie's heart cracked a little bit. His husband had clearly been up all night— he could hear the exhaustion in his voice. The sadness. The temptation to just jump on a plane now and go home empty handed was strong— but he really wanted this.

So instead, he lowered his voice, and did as Eddie asked.

"I love you, baby doll. I'm going to be home before you know it. Just hang in there for me, okay?"

He didn't hang up until all he could hear was the distant buzz of his own voice on the television over the soft snores of his husband as he slept.

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	9. - seven

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ i'm a ghost with the most, babe. ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie finished lunch at 1:00, and the snow was starting to look like it might prove an issue on his quest.

He walked out of the café with intentions to head straight to his final destination— and stopped in his tracks halfway down the main street, staring up at a sign that hung over the door of a dusty old pawn shop.

It should not have been opened in this weather— but Richie pushed the door opened.

The bell rang in his memory more loudly than in did in his actual ears.

⫷❍▨❍⫸

_Derry, Spring of 1994_

It was admittedly childish to play with something before you bought it. But Richie had never been the type of person that people would say acted 'mature' for his age.

Eddie, on the other hand...

This was a surprise coming from him.

Richie crouched behind the legs of an old desk, dating back to the whatever-hundreds were old enough to make it worth the number on the price tag, and held the small walkie-talkie he had discovered up to his mouth, excitement causing his heart to pound.

"Trashmouth to Spaghetti— Spaghetti, do you copy? Over."

Then he waited, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing. He pressed himself further backwards and under the desk as the brunet himself rounded the corner, prowling, stepping carefully through the rows of old items for sale.

"Roger that, Trashmouth." Richie frantically shushed the volume on his walkie as Eddie's voice floated into his ears without the help of the device "I'm looking for you now. Over." Richie waited until he was at the other end of the aisle and uttered a soft, excited "Richie?" into the contraption, then disappeared around the corner.

"You'll never find me," He said, feeling giddy and light. "But _I'm_ going to get _you_." Richie heard Eddie's giggle as he squeezed out from under the desk, sneaking along the shelves and diving behind an old bike as Eddie's footsteps grew near again. 

"How can you be so sure?" The teen asked. Richie held his breath as the feet stopped right in front of him. All Eddie had to do was lean over the edge of the junk piled up beside him and he would be looking down at his target.

"Richie?" Eddie said, and the boy turned his walkie off so Eddie wouldn't hear it, biting his lip to contain his laughter. "You're not talking because I'm close," Eddie realized aloud. "I would hear you if you tried to say anything." His feet turned and the boy they belonged to began wandering around the general area. "I've got you now."

_No, I've got you_, Richie thought, shifting around the edge of his protective wall and staring at where Eddie stood with his back facing him. Light filtered in through the front windows of the shop and when Eddie turned around it framed him— almost making him look as though he had an airy glow about him. His hair was a little bit messy— and he was smiling, clutching the walkie to his chest with a fierce, nervous grip. He looked almost angelic. And _God help me,_ Richie thought, _I love you._

"What did you say?"

Richie nearly leaped out of his skin when Eddie spoke up, holding the walkie up to his mouth. "I thought I heard you say something. But the light on my walkie didn't light up." His gaze shifted, and before Richie could wedge himself back behind the old wall of items, Eddie was on his knees in front of him, eyes alight with triumph.

"I found you!" The teen laughed. "I _knew_ I was close."

"Yeah, you got me," Richie said, but his mouth was dry. Had he spoken aloud earlier? How had Eddie heard him? Perhaps it had been the squeak of the floorboards— something falling off a shelf— anything _but_ him. He hadn't uttered those words yet, not in the whole two years of their relationship, if that was what they were calling it.

_He's your boyfriend, what else would you call it?_

"What did you say at the end there?" Eddie asked, setting the walkie aside and placing his palms flat on Richie's knees to lean over him. "I didn't quite catch it." But if the nervously excited glimmer in those huge brown eyes had anything to do with it, then Richie had a feelingthat he _did_ hear him correctly.

"I—" Richie swallowed thickly, face simultaneously on fire and drained of all color. Eddie was close now. "I said, um... 'I got you..'?" A nervous laugh bubbled in his throat. Eddie's head tilted slightly, and his brow furrowed, but he smiled.

"Oh," he replied. "Well, you didn't."

"I didn't," Richie agreed. His heart leaped into his chest when Eddie leaned closer still, gripping his knees and placing a careful kiss against his mouth. "What was that for?"

"I don't know," Eddie mumbled, pulling away and sitting back on the balls of his feet. "Just— I 'got’ you, too."

Richie looked up at him with huge eyes, the breath leaving his body. Eddie was chewing on his lower lip, brow furrowed. He looked terrified.

"Of course you do. You’re awesome," he heard himself say, and mentally smacked himself. But Eddie threw his head back and laughed. He got to his feet and dusted himself off, offering his hand. Richie took it and Eddie hauled him upwards.

"I know I'm not usually the one to suggest something like this," Eddie said slowly, drawing the other walkie out of Richie's hands and placing them on the nearest counter— not where they found them, but still 'away', for his standards— then grabbed the sleeves of Richie's shirt which were tucked over his fingers, pulling his arms around his own waist. "But do you wanna get out of here? Everyone else is busy today; the clubhouse is empty."

Richie nearly choked on air, practically floating after his boyfriend as he headed to the front of the store.

And if this was what you got for telling a boy that you loved him, then Richie was not sorry to say that he was going to say it a lot more often, starting _right then._

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie looked around the shop, and he wasn't sure if it felt smaller because there were more things, or because he had grown since he was eighteen. But he strolled inside, fingertips brushing the different items, and stopped in his tracks at the end of the first aisle.

On the counter just a few paces away was a pair of walkie talkies.

Now, there was no way of telling whether they were the same ones or not, but it still caused Richie's heart to flutter and a lump to invade his throat. He swallowed it back with some difficulty and picked up the devices, looking them over and laughing softly.

"Can I help you?" A gruff voice asked. He looked up, eyebrows raising.

"Oh—" he said, walking up to the front of the store and pausing in front of the older man behind the counter. "I was just looking. I used to live here."

"Unfortunate," the store clerk said dryly.

"You're telling me," Richie mumbled, looking down at the walkies. "How much're you selling these for?"

"You're Richie Tozier," the man said instead of answering. "The comedian." Richie stares at him for a minute, dumbfounded. He was just an old man— his face was long, mouth curled into what seemed to be a permanent scowl. He glared from under his beaten-up baseball cap. His eyes were sharp behind his spectacles— sharp, and mean.

"That's me," Richie agreed, straightening up a little. "You know me?"

"I've heard some of your stuff on the radio," the clerk replied. "It's shit. You're not funny."

"Yeah, well, I don't write my own material," Richie mumbled, looking down. "So..."

"So you let them shove you around? Put words in your mouth?" The man asked, and his frown seemed to deepen, if that was even possible. "Well shit, kid. Stop worrying so much about what others want you to say and write your own damn story."

"Yeah, see, I would, but it doesn't exactly work that way—" Richie started to say, but the man cut him off, shaking his head and holding up a hand.

"You promise to use those walkies for something _good_— say, putting your words where they belong— like in the ear of someone special to you— then I'll give 'em to you for twenty bucks flat."

"I can do $20," Richie said, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

"That's not what I was asking," the man said, looking up at him with raised eyebrows, and Richie faltered. Then he smiled a little bit.

"I've got someone at home," he said. "I'll put them to good use."

"Alright," the man agreed. Richie tossed him the twenty. "But if I wanted to hike up the price, I could. You can afford it."

_I sure can, old man._

"Well, I appreciate it," Richie said. "You got a bag I could put them in? Do they have a case?"

"The case is extra," he grunted. "$150."

Richie laughed. "Alright, man. I think I'll pass. But thank you so much."

"Ah-yup," he harrumphed. "You have a nice day now. And you put those to good use, or you'll feel guilty for the rest of your life for cheating an old man out of a better sale."

"Will do," Richie said, turning and making his way towards the exit of the shop. He tucked the walkies into the deep inner pockets of his coat before stepping out into the now-blizzard-like snow. He vaguely felt the sensation of his phone buzzing in his back pocket, but his gloves were too thick to grip it and pull it out.

"Fuck," he grunted. Eddie would be livid if he didn't get inside somewhere and call soon. He was probably watching the Maine news and flipping his shit. Richie could practically hear him now—

_"You're outside in THAT weather?!"_

_"If you get home and you're sick I'm not taking care of you."_

But although Richie could feel the oncoming sniffle and the occasional sneeze, he knew that if he _really_ got sick, aside from being banished to the couch, there would be no true punishment.

After all... As much as Eddie hated sickness, he loved Richie a lot more.

And if that meant he had to endure it, he always did.

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	10. - eight

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ be excellent to each other. PARTY ON, DUDES_!_ ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

He called Eddie when he got in the taxi, though it had taken him nearly 15 minutes to convince the one he got to drive him anywhere other than a safe lodging spot.

"What the hell, 'Chee?!" Eddie said, voice exploding from the phone after the first ring had barely faded. Richie flinched, pulling the device away from his ear and lowering the volume slightly. "I was _so_ worried— what the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you answer? The weather says that it's reaching blizzard levels up there. Are you okay? Are you somewhere safe? Are you going to be able to get home? Are you—"

"Eddie, love of my life, my heart's true and only desire, my beloved, my angel, _sweetheart_," Richie said, taking a breath. Eddie fell quiet, and Richie smiled a little bit. The last one always got him. "I am fine. I was trying to hail a taxi. Everything is A-O.K. I want you to stop worrying so much, alright?"

"I can't!" Eddie complained. "Look around you, Rich— look at where you _are_! How can I stop worrying?"

"Baby, it's really going to be okay," Richie assured him, exasperated. "I just need to stop one more place. I admit, I've gotten a little sidetracked— but I'm going to finish up, and hitch a ride to the airport if anyone will take me, and I'm going to catch my flight home. Then when you wake up, I'll be in our bed with you, and you'll wonder how you didn't realize I was back. And you'll snuggle a little closer to me, and realize that I am _not_, in fact, ugly— I'm actually pretty cute when I'm sleeping. And then—"

"Okay!" Eddie interrupted, before heaving a sigh. "I'm sorry... I've just been on edge ever since you left. I don't know what you could possibly want back there. But it had better be worth it."

"Oh, more than, buttercup," Richie replied, leaning back in his seat. The ride wouldn't be long— he was almost at his destination. "I _promise_ I will be back by tomorrow morning. But don't be mad if I sleep the day away, okay?"

"Don't worry, I won't be mad," Eddie said. "I'll be _pissed_."

"Sounds lovely," Richie laughed. "Listen, I'm arriving— I gotta go. I might be MIA for a while— the thing I'm here for seems to have been buried pretty good in all this snow."

"Buried?" Eddie asked incredulously. "What are you—"

"Don't worry about it," Richie cut him off, unbuckling his seatbelt and handing the driver a few bills. "I love you, Eds."

"Don't call me that," Eddie said sourly. "I love you more."

"Impossible," Richie crooned, climbing out of the taxi. "If I don't answer this time, don't panic— but if _two_ hours go by and I'm still not back, then it's safe to assume that something went wrong."

"Way to make me feel better, you jerk," Eddie hissed.

"I'll call you, my darling Lover Boy," Richie said, pulling his gloves on. "I anxiously await our next conversation."

"You're such a loser," Eddie grumbled. "Bye."

Richie waited for the line to go quiet, then slipped his phone back in his pocket. He looked around, breath coming out in puffs of white, and grimaced.

It was time to get to work.

⫷❍▨❍⫸

_Derry, Summer of 1995_

Richie wasn't sure a bridge was the best place to memorialize your love for someone, but he had imprinted his feelings onto this stupid hunk of wood five years prior to forming this opinion, so it was a little too late to change his mind.

Despite the decision that it was a stupid idea, Richie found himself returning regularly to preserve said impression. He dug a blade into the wood, careful to avoid splinters— after all, if Eddie found them in his fingers, he'd ask what they were from.

Afterwards, he would sit back on his heels and admire his work. It always put a stupid, dorky smile on his face.

"They're just a couple of fuckin' letters," he grumbled, getting up and brushing off his pants. He grabbed his backpack and looked down at the carving. A lump started to form in his throat. Something felt different about this time.

_Because you're not coming back._

The sun beat hot against his back and he forced himself to turn away, the thought swelling in his mind and cracking his heart into two.

He still hadn't told Eddie he was leaving— but they had graduated that day, and his suitcase was already in the trunk of his car, which was back at his house. He had walked through town to get here— just to look at everything one more time.

Tears beginning to build up a hot pressure behind his eyes, Richie wiped his nose and started to trudge away, cheeks warm and heart crumbling in his chest. Halfway across town, just before he reached the center, someone stopped him.

"Hey, 'Chee." Warm arms snuck around his waist and he allowed himself to be pulled down the slight slope that led into the barrens, trying not to fall on top of the owner of those arms. "Where did you sneak off to? We're all celebrating at Bill's house."

"I had to do something first," Richie said, heart leaping into his chest as his back hit a tree and his boyfriend's body pressed up against his, hands roaming up his waist and resting on his chest.

"It couldn't wait?" Eddie asked, fingers curling into the front of his shirt and pulling him downwards so that their lips could crash against each other, and Richie kissed him hungrily. He buried one hand in the mess of brown hair at the base of his boyfriend's neck and the other snuck lower on his back, but he dared not go any further in fear of ruining one of the last best moments he had with the boy.

"I love you," Richie said instead of answering. "You know that, right, Eds?"

"Sure, 'Chee," Eddie replied, pulling back just enough to look at him. "I love you, too. Is something wrong?"

_Everything is going wrong._

The tears that had threatened him before returned, and he struggled to hold them back this time, turning his head away and biting his lip harshly. Eddie's thumb tugged at it, pulling it from between his teeth before he could make it bleed, but his palm remained pressed to his cheek.

"I have to go," Richie finally managed to blurt out, voice trembling violently. "I can't stay here anymore. I'm eighteen. I can leave. And I think I really have to."

"I know."

The answer shocked Richie, and the first tears fell, making their slow journey down his face as he stared down at Eddie with huge eyes. The brunet just looked back up at him with a grim smile, lips pressed together hard.

"You— What?" Richie asked, voice hardly a whisper. "You know?"

"Of course I do, dipshit," Eddie said, pushing his curls out of his face. "All you've ever talked about is getting out of this hellhole as soon as you can. This place drains you, baby." He stood on his tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Richie's cheek. "I'm not going to ask you to stay. Not when you go home to an empty house— or worse, a house filled with nothing but neglect."

"Come with me," Richie whispered.

"What..?" Eddie asked, laughing nervously.

"Come with me," Richie said again, louder this time. "We'll pack you a bag. I've got room in my car. We'll go far away, find a place with work, and we'll stay long enough to get us on our feet. We'll have a life in no time."

"That's—" Eddie shook his head, taking a step back. "That's crazy, Rich."

"Why?" Richie demanded. "Why is it so crazy?"

"Because..." Eddie hesitated, and Richie felt a few more tears fall as his glasses started to fog up. "Because what about my mom, Richie?! She'll never let me go!"

"Who cares what she will and won't let you do?!" Richie countered. He grabbed Eddie's hands and gripped them tightly. "You're eighteen now, Eddie, you can make your own choices. We can go, today— We can go pack your clothes and your medications and you aspirator. We can—"

"I can't!" Eddie cried, pulling his hands away, and Richie felt on the verge of panic. He had thought about how this would go— but in his mind it had never been this hard to stay calm. In his mind it had never felt so hard to breathe, or to speak, or to understand what was _actually_ happening.

"Please, Eddie, _please_, I _need_ you," Richie almost sobbed, face crumpling, and now Eddie was crying, too. "_I need you, I can't do this without you—"_

"Yes you can!" Eddie insisted, grasping Richie's face in his hands. "You just go— you get out of here, and you start that life. You start that life without me, and then in a while, I'll come find you. I'll get a job wherever you're living, and we can move in together. I just need time—"

"How long?" Richie asked, and Eddie pulled his head down, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, anywhere he could reach. "How long until you can come with me?"

"I don't know," Eddie wept, finally fitting their lips together again. "I don't _know_, Richie— but I promise, it won't be so bad. You're going to be fine. And I'll be fine. We'll get through this, you and me. Yeah?"

"Okay," Richie agreed faintly, allowing Eddie to take his glasses and wipe his face clear of tears. "Eddie?"

"Yeah, 'Chee?"

"... I love you."

There was a soft sigh. Thin arms curled around Richie's middle and for the last time in nearly twenty-two years, Richie felt like he belonged somewhere.

"I know, baby. I love you too."

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie stepped back. He knew that this must count as some sort of vandalism— but if nobody had done anything about the kids back in the eighties, he couldn't imagine that anyone would do something about this, however much more extreme it was.

He pocketed the tools he had bought for the task earlier in the day and tucked his prize under his arm, then checked his watch.

He had been right about the timing. It had been almost two hours of hacking through icy snow and damp-but-frozen wood. The townhouse wasn't a far walk, even slowed-down by high-speed winds and frigid snow. So Richie didn't bother calling for a cab— there definitely wouldn't be any more out in this weather, he thought with a sinking feeling, and hoped against hope that the highways were being plowed.

He pulled his glove off despite the snow and pulled out his phone when it started to vibrate, holding it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank God," Eddie said, and the relief in his voice made Richie feel even guiltier. "What's that noise? Are you still outside?"

"You know it, baby," Richie replied. Wind whistled in his ears as he trudged through the snow, nose running profusely. "I'm heading back to the townhouse, though. I should be on my way to the airport within the hour."

"I hope you make it," Eddie fretted. "I'm scared for your plane ride home."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Richie assured him, glancing both ways at the crosswalk outside the townhouse, even though he was sure no cars were coming in weather like this. He had since shaken the more dangerous habits of his childhood— including smoking, at Eddie's demand.

"Please just be careful," Eddie requested. "I have a bad feeling. They're still saying on the news that it's not going to get any better."

"I really think I'll be okay, sweetheart," Richie said as he approached the townhouse. "I have to call a cab now. I'll call you back after, if you'd like."

"No, it's okay," Eddie answered reluctantly. "Will you wake me up if I'm asleep when you get home?"

"Not a chance," Richie promised, grinning and wiping his feet on the welcome mat as he entered the building and was blasted with warmth. "But hey, listen for a second—" He wrestled his other glove off and shoved it in his pocket, taking out Susie's note from that morning. "You know I love you, yeah?"

"Sure," Eddie replied.

"I'm serious, Eddie," Richie said, trailing off to the side and leaning against the wall. His voice lowered. "You make all of this worth it. Life, I mean."

"Don't say things like that," Eddie protested. "There are plenty of things that make life worth it."

"You're missing the point," Richie insisted. "What I'm trying to say is, when I tell you I love you more than anything, I _mean_ it. You make me the happiest anybody ever has."

"Because I buy you McDonalds?" Eddie asked softly, and Richie laughed a good, hearty belly-laugh, head tilting back as he placed a hand on his stomach.

He tried to calm himself down, and managed to force out through his giggles, "Yeah, baby. Because you buy me McDonalds."

"I don't want to eat McDonalds tomorrow," Eddie said firmly. "_Anything_ but McDonalds."

"Of course, my love," Richie replied, laughter finally ceasing. "Anything you want. We'll go somewhere nice."

"It doesn't have to be nice," Eddie disagreed. "Just somewhere we both like."

"The café downtown," Richie suggested. "The one you used to say you wanted to work at, because it had that cat who would slink over and sit on your lap while you drank your coffee."

"So a breakfast date?" Eddie giggled. "With Mr. Bean?"

"With _me_, Lover Boy," Richie corrected. "But Mr. Bean can stop by if he's going to wish us a happy one year."

"Okay," Eddie agreed. "Sounds good. Eight o'clock, sharp. Don't you dare be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it, love," Richie answered, smiling softly. "I'll see you in the morning."

"You'd better call me before then," Eddie said, alarmed. "It's only 1:00. I'm not waiting the rest of the day to know if you died or not."

"I'll call you when I make it to the airport," Richie promised. "And before I take off. Then _again_ when I land. You won't have to suffer from withdrawal for too much longer."

"Good," Eddie grumbled. "I'm gonna jump you when I wake up."

"Are you, now?" Richie chuckled, knowing very well how much Eddie was _not_ a morning person. If they had to be at the café by 8:00, that meant they'd be up around 7:00 at the latest, which would warrant either an earlier wake-up to have time to fool around, _or_ being late to breakfast, and Eddie was an even _grumpier_ hungry man.

"Yeah," Eddie grunted. "You won't know what hit you."

"Okay, Spaghetti," Richie said, biting his lip to conceal his smile. "Keep it in your pants for now. Or, you know... _don't_."

"Fuck off, Trashmouth," Eddie said, and Richie had a feeling his face was red. "Beep-beep."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart. I gotta go."

"Okay," Eddie relented. "I love you."

"I love you too. I'll call you later."

"Bye."

Richie hung up and sighed, goofy smile remaining.

He couldn't wait to get home.

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	11. - nine

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ alright_,_ alright_,_ mickey_'_s a mouse_,_ donald's a

duck_,_ pluto_'_s a dog. what_'_s goofy_?_ ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

All flights were delayed until late afternoon the next day and Richie had no idea what he was going to tell Eddie.

For his husband, it was around 5:00 in the morning— on their anniversary. The flight that Richie managed to get a seat on wouldn't be leaving until at least 4:00 P.M. in L.A. time, which meant he had a good eleven hours to kill, and Eddie was expecting him to be there when he woke up.

He decided to leave a video message and even though his hotel room was empty he went into the quietest corner he could find, leaned against the wall, and slid down, pulling his knees up to his chest. The shades were partially drawn, so the little amount of light that made him visible was dull.

He looked like shit.

He felt sick ever since he woke up that morning, which was much earlier than he had hoped. He had slept a total of three hours in the past day and a half. His body, unused to the frigid temperature, had failed him— his immune system was being shitty. It wasn't bad, though— it would be shaken off before the flight was over, he was confident of that. So he sat there, shivering a little bit despite the heat being on, and told himself to try not to cough or sneeze while he filmed.

He hit the record button and began to talk.

"Hey, baby," he began shakily, sniffling a little bit. "God, I should have blown my nose before I started to record." He laughed nervously, and fell silent, suddenly entirely unsure of what to say. Just '_I love you_' was too desperate— Eddie was not going to be impressed with that.

He wasn't going to be impressed with any of this, to be fair, but Richie wanted this to blow over as smoothly as possible. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back to hit the wall with a soft thump.

"You hate waking up in the morning," he finally said, unmoving. "But you used to tell me that it was easier when I was there to wake up with you. And I guess it's not going to be so easy this morning. _Especially_ not going to be so easy this morning." His brow furrowed and his eyes cracked open. He stared at the ceiling, aware that this was the least flattering angle of himself that he could capture as he sniffled again, cursing under his breath.

"I fucked up, sweetheart," Richie said, and he was surprised to hear his voice scratching, to feel something wet hit his cheek. "I just— It's not an excuse, but I wanted to get you something _good_. Something worthwhile. I wanted the first year to mean something. And I fucked up." He smiled through his tears, lifting his head and shrugging at the camera. "But I guess that's just like me, isn't it?"

He took a deep, shaking breath, trying to get himself under control, but his face crumpled and he just ended up letting out a soft, anguished noise.

"God, you have no idea how much I wish I was there with you right now." He pulled his glasses off and swiped the tears from his eyes, but more just came back, even faster this time. "I'd just look at you for a little while— because you're beautiful, sweetheart, I mean, God fucking damn, you're gorgeous— and then I'd... I'd kiss you. And your nose would scrunch up, the cute way that it always does when I try to wake you up." He laughed, but it was a painful sound, and he shook his head, biting his lip harshly to keep himself from crying aloud.

"And you'd tell me to fuck off, or let you sleep, or some cute shit like that," he sobbed, lifting his free hand to cover his face. "God, I'm such a fuck up..." He just cried for a few seconds, sniffling pitifully, and working up the willpower to continue.

When he was finally settled down enough to keep going, he lifted his head and pushed the curls out of his forehead, sure that his eyes were starting to look puffy. Eddie wasn't going to believe a word of this.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I've never wanted anything more than to be home with you on this day. _This fucking day._ But I can't even get that right, so I'm sorry. And I hope you'll forgive me when I get home at 11:00 tonight, and maybe you're already sleeping, and you were on your own for our whole Goddamn anniversary. Jesus Christ." He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and wiping them again on his long sleeves.

"I didn't sleep last night," he said softly after another few moments of silence. "I couldn't stop thinking about— about how I let you fall asleep thinking I'd be there when you woke up. How I hung up the phone without telling you that I wasn't _actually_ getting on my plane. And how much I miss you, because my God, sweetheart... I miss you like an astronaut misses the Earth beneath his feet. I miss you like the whole world misses the sun when it goes down every evening. I miss you like... like I've never missed anything ever in my life." He ran a hand down the side of his face and rested his cheek on his palm, looking straight at the camera.

"And I love you," he added, hoping he didn't sound too desperate. "But I won't make you sit through any analogies for that because you know that I love you more than I love the very oxygen I breathe."

He paused again, knowing that this video was beginning to get much longer than he should send in one message. So he decided to wrap it up.

"They say that to love someone, you first have to love yourself," he said, brow furrowing. "Okay," he relented, making a 'meh' face. "I can see where they're coming from. But let me tell you something, baby." He smiled a sad, painful smile. "I didn't love myself till long after I started loving you. I didn't love myself until you told me why _you_ did. That's when I started to see it."

"So maybe I'm a fuck up," he shrugged. "But I think we already knew that, didn't we?" He laughed a little bit, running his fingers through his curls. "And you always said you loved me anyway. So even though I'm the worst husband in the world, and I made the biggest mistake yet— besides leaving you behind when we were kids— I hope you love me enough to let this one slide." He raised his eyebrows, falling silent, then realized, and grinned.

"I don't know why I'm waiting for a reply. You're not here. God, I'm exhausted." He inhaled deeply and rolled his neck, listening to the soft crackles and pops that Eddie hated so much. "Alright. This video is too long and almost all of it is be being miserable, so I'm gonna tell you I love you again, and leave it at that." He sat up straight, looked straight into the camera, and mustered up his softest smile yet.

"I love you, sweetheart. I'll be home soon."

⫷❍▨❍⫸


	12. - ten

⫷❍▨❍⫸

❝ if my calculations are correct_,_ when this baby

hits eighty-eight miles an hour_,_ you_'_re going to see

some serious shit_!_ ❞

⫷❍▨❍⫸

Richie's plane landed an hour earlier than it was scheduled to, but the airport was busier than ever— people were still coming and going for Christmas break— visiting home, or vacationing for the holiday. An early plane meant the gate wasn't open yet. So, he sat in the vehicle for the last hour, staring at his phone.

Eddie hadn't messaged him or called him all day, and Richie felt shitty, but knew he deserved it. The guilt was eating him from the inside out. He had gotten a few happy anniversary wishes from his friends, but his favorite was from Beverly Hanscom-Marsh:

_happy anniversary, u asshole._

_i hope u brought back smth good, or_

_hes never going 2 forgive u -b_

Richie had read that one as soon as his flight landed and smiled a bit, typing out a snarky reply.

_it's none of ur business, mrs. hanscom._

_(but for the record, i really, really hope it IS worth it) -r_

He got off the plane easier than he had thought he would, and despite the airport being packed, he didn't have to worry about baggage claim. He lugged his carryon out front where the drop-off and pick-up zones were and called an Uber. He answered a few of the other Losers' wishes for his happy anniversary— although, it didn't seem that anyone knew of the issue aside from Bev.

_Stan would have known._

The thought made his heart ache. He hadn't thought of Stan in a long time— but he knew Eddie thought of his old best friend every day. And if Stan were alive, he would have called Richie by now, absolutely _fuming_— and Bill would be sitting in their shared house, listening to him shout over the phone, and wondering what the _hell_ had gotten his husband's pants in such a twist.

But he wasn't alive, and he wasn't yelling at Richie, and Richie still felt just as bad as he would if the man _were_ shouting at him. Worse, even, because now he felt sad about something else.

He sat down at a bench and opened his carryon, pulling out the item that had _hopefully_ made the entire trip worth it just to look at it for a second.

The edges were a little bit jagged. They would have to bring it somewhere to get it smoothed, if Eddie wasn't pissed enough to throw it out the second he saw it. Richie hoped he wasn't, because the longer he looked at the little hunk of what anyone else would say was _nothing special,_ he felt a little bit better.

His Uber arrived at 10:23 at night and he had never gotten into a stranger's car so fast in his life. The ride was silent. He knew it always took almost exactly forty-five minutes to get home from the airport, but he found himself counting down the minutes as if he were Cinderella trying to make it home before the clock struck twelve and everything was ruined.

He almost leaped from the car before it even stopped moving. He barely got the words out to thank his driver before he was slamming the door and flying up the rest of their extensive driveway to get to the front steps.

The door was unlocked. He shuffled inside as quickly but as quietly as he could, shrugging off his jacket and carrying his bag into the living room. He held Eddie's gift tightly in his free hand, and he knew he was shaking as he glanced around.

The room was empty.

Of course. Fine. Everything was alright. He was probably just sleeping. Richie tried to reassure himself, breaths coming a bit more quickly as he scurried into their bedroom, heart sinking when there was not a warm, comfortable lump in the middle of their king-sized bed. In fact, there were no blankets or sheets on it at all. Feet dragging, he walked over to the foot of it and placed his bag down, hugging the gift to his chest and struggling to remain calm.

The house was huge, but Eddie didn't like to go very many places in it on his own. These were his two haunts, and he was not here. Where else could he _possibly_ be? Richie walked back into the living room, kicking off his shoes and looking around with frantic eyes. A fly buzzed around his face, and his brow furrowed. He stopped dead in his tracks and wondered how he had not noticed it before.

The sliding glass door that led to their backyard was standing slightly open.

Richie started to relax, though he was still terrified to face his husband. He walked over and slid it open further, wincing as it made a rather loud noise— one of the only things in the house they hadn't gotten fixed— then shut it behind him, all the way this time so that no more bugs than had already entered the house would make themselves at home.

Richie lifted his head and stared across their expansive yard at where two trees stood in the back corner, a bunched jumble of fabric swinging gently between them. All of the sheets and blankets from their bed, including the comforter, were practically overflowing from it, hiding however might be dwelling within the peaceful cocoon.

He walked slowly, prize held behind his back as he approached, the grass tickling the pads of his feet. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the dark shape, illuminated only by the soft flicker of a lantern that hung on one of the lower branches of the taller of the two trees.

For a minute, Richie thought there was no one there. Then he saw the lump rise faintly, and fall again under the breaths of whoever was underneath. Heart rising into his throat, he realized this was it, and checked his watch.

11:25. He had made it home with exactly forty-five minutes to celebrate a year of marriage to the love of his life.

Richie reached out hesitantly with one hand, stalling for a minute to look out at the vast overlook they had of the city.

When he said they lived in L.A., he really meant on the outskirts. They could see all the lights from here. It was gorgeous at sunset— but the starlight was okay, too. Richie shook his head.

_Stop distracting yourself._

He reached out and pulled back the covers a little bit.

Eddie was looking up at him with huge eyes, and Richie almost choked on his own tongue. The brunet didn't look pleased— and he wasn't in the wrong— but he also didn't look angry, either.

"You're late," he said.

"Yeah," Richie croaked, voice coming out hoarse. "But I got you presents."

"Presents, plural?" Eddie asked, raising his eyebrows. Richie nodded vigorously, and he took a hopeful step forward.

"Can I sit with you?" He asked nervously, biting his lip. Eddie regarded him with careful eyes, and then took almost all of the weight in the world off of Richie's shoulders when he scooted over and held out his arm. Richie practically collapsed into their hammock, burrowing himself into Eddie's side and holding onto him as tightly as he could.

Eddie grunted impatiently, hand touching his face and guiding him upwards so that he could slot their lips together, rolling so he lay over Richie just slightly and covered them with the blankets. Richie kissed him fiercely, almost forgetting about the gift in his free hand as the other curled over Eddie's petite waist, pressing their bodies together until they were flush.

"You're such a fucking asshole," Eddie complained, pulling back. "I can't believe you weren't here for our first anniversary."

"Did you get my video?" Richie asked.

"Yeah, and you were fucking pathetic," Eddie grumbled, but he sounded guilty. "I didn't mean that," he said after a moment. "I just... really missed you today."

"I missed you, too," Richie mumbled, kissing him again, much more sweetly and slowly this time. Eddie shifted until he lay on top of him, his hand spreading to cup his face. His thumb stroked Richie's cheekbone, and the taller man sighed into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

"Stop kissing me, I want my present," Eddie said against his lips, rolling off of him and snuggling against his side. Richie swallowed with some difficulty, beginning to feel nervous.

"Well, I left the first part inside, but it wasn't the real reason I went to Derry," he began, reaching out and grasping Eddie's hand. The feeling of the cool metal ring against his fingers was a comfort, and his heart fluttered once again in his chest. "Those walkie-talkies we were fucking around with— the day I told you I loved you for the first time."

"No fucking way," Eddie gasped, looking up at him with shining eyes. "Are you serious, 'Chee? You found the exact ones?"

"Way," Richie insisted. "I don't know if they're the exact same— but they look the same, and they were in the same exact store, so I think it's safe to assume. I don't know what we'll use them for, but I just saw them and thought it would be a cool thing to get."

"I didn't think you were the nostalgic type," Eddie teased, kissing his cheek.

"Then the _real_ present will shock you," Richie admitted, clutching the gift in his trembling free hand. It was hidden under the blankets— not very discreetly, either. "It's stupid. I can't believe I never told you, but I guess I was just kind of humiliated."

"Well, what is it?" Eddie insisted. "I want to know what was so important that you missed our anniversary to get it."

"Well—" Richie hesitated, cheeks unbelievably warm. He turned his head and looked out at the starlit skyline, taking a deep breath. "Remember during _that_ summer— after you broke your arm, and Bill and I were fighting? And nobody was talking to each other?"

"Sure," Eddie said. "And my mom wouldn't let me out to go see you or anyone else."

"Right," Richie confirmed. "Well... It was before we started dating, and I was still kind of figuring everything out, you know? And I was still kind of afraid of all of this. But I knew I missed you. And I knew I didn't feel as good about myself when you weren't around. And I knew I was missing that little stutter in my heartbeat every time you laughed, or smiled. So I knew, 'This must be something. If it wasn't, it wouldn't hurt every time I think about him and remember that _he won't be there when I go to the barrens to play._' And Henry was ratting on me for being queer. Everything was just a whirlwind of scary feelings, mixed with It fucking around with us, and you not being there."

"So I did the only logical thing to do when you have a crush and need to do something discreet about it." He pulled the gift out from under the blanket, and Eddie gasped, grip on his shirt tightening. Richie smiled down at the hunk of wood, embarrassed at the carving that still stood the test of time, still clear as day as he had left it when he recharged it two years earlier.

_R+E_

"Richie," Eddie breathed, and when Richie looked at him, his eyes were huge and unblinking. "How fucking long was that on the bridge?"

"I just told you, Eds," Richie said, brow furrowing. "Since we were thirteen. Summer of '89, when you broke your arm and we were all fighting. I just never told you because—"

"We have to put it up on our wall somewhere," Eddie interrupted. "We have to get the edges smoothed so we don't get splinters and get it preserved somehow. I want to put it on the living room wall so I can always see it."

"Really?" Richie asked, wrinkling his nose. "This old hunk of termite-food? You wanna hang it up? It doesn't match anything."

"I don't care," Eddie insisted. "This is— nobody has ever— I can't believe you _thought_ of this." Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "My gift seems stupid now."

"No!" Richie protested. "I'm sure it's fantastic. What did you get?"

"Well, like I said, it's kind of for both of us," Eddie mumbled, leaning over the edge of the hammock. It tilted dangerously, and Richie leaned to the other side to try to disperse the weight evenly as Eddie grabbed for something. There was a soft rustling as he pulled a cardboard box up and placed it on their laps between them.

"What is it?" Richie asked, frowning. There were a bunch of VHS tapes inside, and a few of them had labels, but it was too dark to read them.

"Remember when Stan got that video camera for Christmas in '91? We were like, fifteen, and all he ever wanted to do was record all of us." Eddie laughed a little, pulling out one of the tapes. "Well, Bill finally found the time to get all of the memory off of it— and he put them on VSH tapes for me, because I thought it would feel more real for us if we had to do it that way, you know?" He smiled, passing the tape over to Richie. "So, I didn't really _make_ the gift, and we would have gotten it anyway— but I _did_ go through the digital copies Bill gave me and make a little special of all of our best moments that Stan caught on camera."

"You are too cute," Richie mumbled, putting the tape back and carefully placing the box and the carving onto the ground below them. He turned onto his side and pulled Eddie closer, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. The man was blushing.

"I'm nothing special," he said. Richie grinned.

"Whoa, baby," he quoted from that day at the quarry long ago. "Slow down a sec."

"Richie—" Eddie protested, laughing, but said man silenced him with a kiss, lips curving upwards.

"Can't you see you're beautiful?" He whispered against his mouth, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"I love you, 'Chee," Eddie said, face pressed into the side of Richie's neck. Richie smiled, eyes fluttering shut as he basked in the feeling of being back home and laying with the man he loved more than anything else in the world.

"I know, sweetheart. I love you, too."

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	13. - afterword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Afterword to the Text

⫷❍▨❍⫸

hey guys_! _

so like— this is over now

i know it was super short but that's kind of how it was meant to be.

i hope you enjoyed it, regardless of the length_! _

for those of you who are new to my account, welcome_!_ i have another story if you're interested. i will provide a short description of it below_:_

_ **Ο Ο Ο** _

_ Nine Chances _

_ **Ο Ο Ο** _

_**''** I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK _

_IS GOING ON, AND I'M REALLY _

_STARTING TO FREAK OUT!_ _**''**_

_ **Ο Ο Ο** _

In which Richie has nine chances to save Eddie's life.

_ **Ο Ο Ο** _

edit— this is for people who like REALLY long stories. it isn't finished yet and it's surpassed 130,000 words. if you like that sort of thing, it's definitely for you_!_ please give it a read, and i hope you enjoy_!_ if not, that's ok. there will be other stories.

anyway_! _

i do have a short collection of boreo one-shots called Under This Umbrella and they do kind of stand alone but they could follow a coherent storyline if you wish to read them that way. that is not updated as regularly as anything else though so don't walk in expecting an update every week haha

i have a few more reddie ideas in the works, and i hope to share some of them soon. this was just a cute idea i had and wrote over the span of a week, but i'm glad i did, because killing eddie so many times in Nine Chances was getting exhausting and i needed an outlet for my wholesome married life withdrawals.

quick thank you to my bab Gabby for listening to me gush about this (and many other) idea(s).

i love you bab_!_

anyways, thanks for reading_!_ i hope you guys enjoyed it, and wherever you are, whatever time it is where you live, remember to drink water and stay positive_! _

much love_! _

ciao_! _

⫷❍▨❍⫸

(shoutout to whoever gets the movie each beginning quote comes from)

⫷❍▨❍⫸


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